Thursday, May 16, 2013

A Proffie's Garden of Worsts

Worst grasp of adult social norms: Picked his nose in class--daily--with the sort of dedication and concentration that would have been impressive if he'd devoted it to, say, doing his classwork.

Worst understanding of personal abilities: "Sure, I can make up eight weeks' work in two days! No problem!"

Worst awareness of the need to maintain a low center of gravity: Wore stilt-like shoes so tall and tippy that she couldn't walk down a busy staircase without stopping on each step, grasping the railing, and tentatively reaching her foot down over the abyss as if it were the Grand Canyon, resulting in near-gridlock all up and down the steps.

Worst blame-throwing: Complained to the provost that his experience in my class LAST semester traumatized him so much that it's my fault he flunked all his classes THIS semester.

Worst comprehension of why I'm here: Begged me to go over a paper with her because the Writing Center was closed, even though (1) she was not my student; (2) the paper was for a class outside my discipline; and (3) the Writing Center was closed because it was SPRING BREAK.

Worst student-generated metaphor: The pleasant aroma "spiraled like a staircase up her nose."


There must be more, yes?

5 comments:

  1. Worst behavior by supposedly-graduating senior: blowing off numerous opportunities over the course of the semester to accumulate points toward several components of the final grade, then, when (s)he realized that it's entirely possible (s)he might not get the grade (s)he needs to graduate, emailing me repeatedly to beg for extra credit. No. Consider it a life lesson. The little, day-to-day stuff counts.

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  2. Worst timing for an epiphany: "I kept hoping that I'd do better on the next assignment without having to actually do the reading, from, you know, listening in class. Then I realized 'the next assignment' was the final. I guess I'm screwed, huh?"

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  3. The student with stilt-like shoes reminds me of the student who appears in class with a fluorescent orange face--apparently after going to the tanning salon. Perhaps if the former walked up the spiral staircase in the latter's nose, then each of them would have the opportunity to ask the other, "Why do you do this to yourself?" But, indeed, isn't that the question each of us could ask hirself?

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